


Tombstone, Redux

by oceaxe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cosplay, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s13e06 Tombstone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: Cas thinks it's cowboy movies that make Dean happy, so he prepares a surprise for him.Featuring a TON of quotes from the movie "Tombstone," and the kiss that failed to happen in s13e06 after Cas says "I'm your huckleberry."





	Tombstone, Redux

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously, almost all of the dialogue in this fic is directly from Tombstone. Cas exclusively quotes Doc Holliday and Dean quotes Wyatt Earp. 
> 
> (and if you don't think there was something between Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday in that movie, I don't know what to say to you except you're WRONG)
> 
> (also, this is my first Supernatural fic!!! it's not much, but it's a start!)

Cas gingerly pushes open the door of the Dean Cave to see that it’s dark, no sign of life within. He heaves a sigh of mingled relief and anticipation. He’s been planning this night for months, debating over the right movies to rent, the right beer to purchase, the right silk cravat to wear. He even bought some chaps on Ebay, though he hasn’t had the courage to try them on. Perhaps he’ll ask Dean to wear them. That should make him happy. 

This whole scheme will make him happy. It has to. If he can’t get a win for Dean any other way, this _has_ to work. 

Soon he's got the beer chilling in the cooler and the music cued up. He’s got Netflix paused on the first season of Gunslingers and he's fiddling with his waistcoat when Dean walks in. 

“What’s all this?” he asks, confusion plain on his face as he comes to a halt. “What are you _wearing_?” 

Cas looks down at himself and then back up. “I’m your huckleberry,” he says slowly, hoping that Dean gets it. 

“Yeah, you look like it,” Dean replies, an odd expression on his face. He cocks his head. “What’s going on in here? Is that old-timey music?”

“Well, this happens to be a nocturne.”

Dean blinks at him. “A what now?” 

Cas smiles before he schools his face to its customary deadpan expression. “You know, Frederic fucking Chopin.” Perhaps this wasn't a good idea. Dean doesn't seem in the mood to participate, to judge by his total lack of reaction. 

“Are you… are you quoting Tombstone? Didn’t even seem like you liked that movie.” Dean still seems ill at ease, but he's coming further into the room. Cas decides to take it as a good sign. Dean peers at the movie posters he's hung up, a quizzical furrow in his brow.

“I beg to differ,” Cas says, fetching a beer for Dean and handing it to him. “We started a game we never got to finish.” He stares meaningfully at Dean, willing him to cotton on, as the cowboys used to say. 

“That’s… you’re still quoting the movie,” Dean states, like he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Cas just raises his eyebrows at him and waits for him to join in. After a moment, Dean sees the hat sitting on the arm of his recliner and puts it on, a slow smile tugging at his lips. 

“I was just fooling about,” he says, green eyes on Cas, dancing with challenge.

“I wasn’t.”

Dean laughs, and it might be the first time in weeks. Warmth spreads in Cas’ chest and he smiles as Dean reaches out to clink his beer against the one that Cas is holding.

“This is fucking weird,” Dean says, a chuckle softening the words. “You are a weird little guy.” He takes a long swig of his beer and settles on the chair, reaching for the remote.

“What an ugly thing to say,” Cas returns, and Dean’s gaze flicks to him, surprised. “Does this mean we're not friends anymore? You know, if I thought you weren't my friend, I just don't think I could bear it.”

“Did… did you actually _memorize_ the whole movie?” Dean has set his beer down and turned to fully face Cas. 

Cas shrugs and smiles, directing his attention to his own beer. He can’t recall a quote that will work in this context, so he waits for Dean, waits to see if he’ll continue the game.

The thing is, after they got back from Dodge City, Cas replayed Dean’s excitement in his mind, over and over again. He considered how cowboys, and movies about cowboys, and cowboy costumes and cowboy gear made him as joyful and carefree as he had ever seen him. And he wondered, late at night while he lay sleepless in his bed, the bunker quiet all around, what it was that he’d seen in Dean’s face, after he'd uttered the one quote he could remember from Tombstone. 

They drink in silence for a moment as Dean flicks through the movies and shows cued up on Netflix, all of them westerns, most of them starring Kurt Russell. Cas expects him to pick one and play it any moment, and he doesn’t care which one. Westerns still don’t do much for him, but that’s not the point of this evening. He startles when Dean shuts off the tv and lets the remote clatter to the table.

“I spent my whole life not knowing what I want out of it, just chasing my tail. Now for the first time I know exactly what I want... and who... and that's the damnable misery of it.” 

His eyes are shut as he speaks, and Cas lets his gaze roam the lovely planes and curves of Dean’s face. His heart is racing. He hadn’t dared hope for this, not with his conscious mind, but his grace had yearned this way wordlessly. Ever since he watched the film again and recognized the parallels between Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp, and himself and Dean. 

“What did you ever want?” He continues the scene, his voice soft and low.

“Just to live a normal life,” Dean replies, still on script. His eyes are open now, his hands on his knees, fingers clenched. 

“When will you wake up?” Cas returns, the words a little harsher than he expected them to be. “You wouldn’t know a normal life if it bit you in the ass.” 

Dean laughs, a little bitterly, acknowledging the truth of that line. 

“There's no normal life, Dean, it's just life,” Cas says, heart beating nearly out of his chest. He doesn’t know exactly where they’re going with this, but he knows where he wants it to go. “Get on with it.”

Dean is frozen still in his chair, beer forgotten. He stares at the blank television. 

“I don’t know how.” 

His mouth clenches shut as soon as he’s said Earp’s words. He swallows and licks his lips, the surest sign that there’s something else he wants to say, something he’s stopping himself from doing.

“Sure you do. All your life you been running and looking back and just barely existing and calling it getting by.” 

Cas wills Dean to look at him, leaning towards him, almost rising out of his seat. Dean meets his eyes, his green eyes round with shock. 

“Live every second. Live right up to the hilt. Live, Dean. Live for me.” 

Dean staggers up out of his chair, looking overcome with some strong emotion. He’s poised for fight or flight; Cas can’t tell which. 

“Dean, if you were ever my friend, if you ever had even the slightest of feeling for me, stay. Stay. Please.” 

He can’t believe he got the words out. He's also risen out of his chair, but his eyes have slid shut without him willing them to. He’s trembling. He doesn’t want to watch Dean walk out the door.

The air around him shifts and he feels warm fingers grasping his own. 

“Thanks for always being here,” Dean says, his voice graveled and halting.

“You know why I’m here." His gaze can’t help, at this distance, but be drawn to Dean’s lips. No human should have lips like these, he thinks. Mortals should not have to wrestle with such temptation. Nor angels. "My hypocrisy goes only so far.” 

Dean’s other hand comes up to Cas’ shoulder, then slides around to his neck. The hairs on Cas’ nape stand to attention, making him shiver, though the rest of his body seems to turn to liquid heat. 

“Alright, let's finish it,” Dean murmurs, his eyes devouring Cas’ face as his head inclines toward Cas.

“Indeed, sir,” Cas manages before lips, those lips, those ineffably beautiful and human lips, touch his. 

This is what it means to "swoon," he thinks. 

Some time later, Dean lifts his head, though he keeps Cas pressed to him. 

“How the hell did we get ourselves into this?” 

Cas nearly laughs with delight that Dean is still using the movie dialogue. He sobers a bit, though, when the perfect line forms in his mind and then on his tongue.

“You’re the only human being in my entire life that ever gave me hope,” he says, the truth of it resonating between them like a struck bell. Dean’s mouth descends to his again, tasting the hope rising within Cas and returning it tenfold.


End file.
